26
by Streaks of Hail
Summary: The ups and downs, laughs and cries and companionship that comes with being two halves of a whole. Twenty-six different chapters on Fitz and Simmons, each inspired by a song, and each song starting with a letter of the alphabet, from A-Z.
1. All About Us

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Here we are, at the start of a new story. This one will be a side project, for certain, but it's just a fun multi-chapter for our two favourite scientists. Song suggestions are definitely welcome, but please consider the alphabet.

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Agents of SHIELD, nor any of the songs used.

**CHAPTER ONE: All About Us**

"Would you let me lead  
You can step on my feet  
Give it a try  
It'll be all right."

"Cause lovers dance when they're feeling in love  
Spotlight shining, its all about us  
its all about us  
And every heart in the room will melt  
This is a feeling I've never felt  
but its all about us."

_All About Us - Owl City ft. He Is We _

"Don't they look lovely?" Simmons mused, tearing her gaze away from the crowd of beautifully dressed couples to smile brightly at Fitz.

It was their last year at Sci-Ops, and to celebrate, there had been a party thrown. Or perhaps, more of a formal dance. Students attending were required to be in formal wear, something that Simmons had found particular trouble with. She didn't get out of the lab often, something that meant she didn't often have the chance to attend fancy gatherings. Which, in turn, meant that Simmons didn't have particularly formal clothes. She'd had to drag Fitz along to the shops, and they'd spent a day picking out clothes for the event.

Simmons had to admit, Fitz looked rather dashing in the suit that she had picked out for him. It was a simple black one, classic but well-fitted. She herself was wearing a moderately simple dress, emerald green in colour and reaching just to her knees. She wore green high heels, but they were killing her feet. Sometimes, she cursed the person who thought making shoes higher were a better thing. On the plus side, she was just about taller than Fitz now, and she felt _pretty_.

Not that Simmons looked down on herself - she doesn't do that at all, she was brought up not to - but sometimes it was just nice to put on make up and make herself feel nice. Certainly, she hoped to catch the eyes of a few men. Not necessarily to flaunt it in their face, but simply to experiment. After all, it would certainly be an interesting experience.

"Lovely?" Fitz frowned, squinting at the other dancers. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." He looked terribly uncomfortable in his suit, fidgeting and shuffling from one foot to the other every other moment.

Simmons reached out a hand to stop him, giving him a small grin. "Oh, the suit's not half bad, Fitz," she chided warmly.

"Oh, really? Yeah, well. You try wearing a suit this stiff," Fitz grumbled, tugging at his collar before attempt to ruffle at his hair.

Simmons frowned at him in slight disappointment, rolling her eyes at him. "Oh, Fitz! Don't mess up your hair, you know how long we spent trying to tame those curls. And besides, I think those couples look beautiful. Look how they're dancing. We should join them." She'd said it on an impulse, but now that she had voiced the idea, she found herself genuinely wanting to join in on the dance floor.

Fitz, however, seemed to have different plans, shaking his head wildly. "No, Simmons. I'm not going onto the bloody dance floor. Do you still remember the last time I tried to dance?"

"It wasn't that bad," Simmons attempted to reassure him, but even at the mere recollection of the memory, she struggled not to burst out laughing.

"I see you laughing at me," Fitz muttered. Obviously, Simmons was not good at hiding laughter. Or hiding anything in general, really. It was well known that she was a terrible liar. "And I'm not going out there."

Simmons realised she was still holding Fitz's arm, and she dropped it quickly, giving Fitz a regretful smile. She knew once Fitz had set his mind on something, that he wouldn't budge from it. There was no point in trying, honestly. "Really, Fitz. It's judt a simple little dance," she huffed. She wasn't really angry at him, of course. He knew that. They spent the next few minutes chattering, with Simmons casting longing looks towards the dances.

When a dashing young man approached her and asked for a dance, she was surprised to find a blend of disappointment mixed in with the joy. Perhaps she had wanted the boy hanging near the buffet tables to ask her for a dance instead.

...

"You're still here," Simmons said in surprise, holding back an amused chuckle as Fitz turned in startled alarm. He was still lingering around the buffet bar, although she doubted that he had eaten all that much.

"Yeah," Fitz nodded in agreement. Simmons detected a strange expression on his features, although she couldn't quite place what it was.

"Hasn't anyone asked you to dance?" Simmons queried curiously, making her way over and settling herself down on the seat next to him. The pain in her feet eased immediately, and she half thought about kicking her shoes off. But of course, that would be inappropriate at such a formal event.

"Yeah," Fitz admitted. Simmons immediately turned to scan the crowd for any suspects, ignoring his exasperated look. "Agent Chase and Agent Ruth."

"Oh, really? What did you say? I didn't see you on the dance floor," Simmons asked, admittedly rather excited. There was something very silly, and yet fun in pressuring into Fitz's love life. She knew as well as anyone that he was rather anti-social, sticking to himself and her only. That did mean that she got him all to herself, though.

"That's because I said no," Fitz murmured pointedly, giving a sheepish shrug at Simmons's surprised look.

"Fitz! You really need to start getting out more," she chided, leaning over to nudge him. "They're both rather good-looking and well-formed. Chase is a little over-excited, but Ruth is certainly a charmer."

"Can you see me dancing with them?" Fitz raised an eyebrow, and Simmons had to concede on that point. She had to admit, she couldn't imagine Fitz with either of the girls, no matter how smart or academically gifted they were. Come to think of it, she couldn't imagine any of the girls at the Sci-Ops ending up with Fitz. Then again, it's not exactly like he hung out with any girls.

"It's not a bad thing to like a girl," Simmons said breezily, totally unaware of what she was really saying, and the fact that the tips of Fitz's ears were turning slightly red. "It's a perfectly reasonable biological reaction for a young man. It happens to woman too, believe it or not. But of course, it tends to be slightly more prominent in men.." She trailed off as she finally noticed Fitz's horrified look, and she decided that maybe that was one topic of human nature that she should refrain from exploring further with Fitz.

Instead, her lips quirked up into another warm smile, and she turned her gaze back to the crowd of mingling students, all dressed in beautiful costumes with beautiful faces. "All I'm saying, Fitz, is that it's not a bad thing to start having more fun," she said gently.

"Yeah, like you and Smith were doing," Fitz blurted out suddenly, and Simmons snapped her head back to stare curiously at Fitz.

"What?"

"I saw you and Smith. He was.. I don't know, watching you. Like.. like you were a prize." There was silence for a long moment, and then Simmons grinned suddenly, feeling the absurd urge to double over in laughter. Fitz frowned, seemingly offended by her attitude. "Hey. Hey, what did I do?"

"Oh, Fitz," she smiled at him, hugging her arms to her chest in an attempt to stop from laughing. "You're sweet, but did you drink too much punch?"

Fitz scowled suddenly, looking slightly more irritated all of a sudden. "Are you saying I'm drunk?"

"No," Simmons back-pedalled quickly, but she still held a small smile on her lips. "Of course not. Well, maybe a little bit." She shook her head abruptly, she was getting far too side-tracked and rambling on. Perhaps she shouldn't have accepted that drink from Smith, as she was beginning to feel a little light-headed. "Smith was being perfectly fine, Fitz. And honestly, I can take care of myself. I'm not a preschooler, and you are most certainly not my father."

Simmons thought she caught the familiar pink tinge of a flush on Fitz's features, but she cleared it from her mind quickly, leaping up from the seat and turning sharply, almost teetering in her heels.

"Simmons, are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine," Simmons laughed at his crinkled expression of concern, finding it rather endearing. Purely on a wild impulse, she stuck a hand out to him. "When was the last time you danced?"

"Jemma, no," Fitz said firmly, shaking his head. A sigh of disappointment escaped her lips, and she gave him an exasperated look.

"Please, Fitz?" She wasn't exactly sure why she was so eager to have him dance with her, but she was honestly open to experimenting this night. Maybe it was the drinks she had been handed, or perhaps it was the pure atmosphere of the night, but she wanted him to enjoy it as well. Somehow, it didn't seem fair that she was off galavanting with other men while Fitz sat by himself. Tonight was supposed to be a big night to remember. Fitz was her best friend. She wanted him in these memories as well.

By some miracle, Fitz finally gave a tentative nod, accepting her hand. Simmons noticed with a light laugh that his grip was slightly clammy. She pulled him up and gave him a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Fitz." He only smiled in response, and it was Simmons who lead the way onto the dance floor, just in time for the next song. It was a bright, cheery song, one that reminded her faintly of karaoke nights and singing in the shower.

It was her who guided his hands to the right places, as he seemed to fumble and slip. He apologised, but Simmons only gave him a smile as they moved back and forth on the dance floor along with all the other couples. Fitz certainly hadn't improved since the last time they had danced, as he was still bumbling about as ever. In a way, Simmons found it more intimate than the smooth, perfect movements of Smith.

"See?" Simmons murmured as the song began to slow down, and the dancers slowed down with them. "It's not so bad, is it?"

"Remind me why we're doing this again?" Fitz grumbled, but Simmons knew that he wasn't being serious.

"Because we decided that you need to be more social?" She suggested cheekily, neatly side-stepping as Fitz almost blundered into her foot clumsily.

"I'm plenty social," Fitz said defensively, the corners of his lips curling up into a grin.

"Yes? Care to elaborate, Mr Fitz?"

"Well.." Fitz obviously struggled for an answer, his eyes darting around the room quickly. Most likely to pick a random person to be his excuse. However, he surprised her when he smiles sheepishly instead. "Who needs a social life when you have Jemma Simmons standing beside you the entire time?"

Simmons's smile grew wider, and it was then that she noticed just how close he was. She could make out every aspect of his blue eyes, count every blemish on his skin. She liked to think her next act was purely on impulse. And perhaps it was. But then she kissed him. It was rushed, it was sweet, but Simmons found herself thinking that it was far too short for her liking.

She drew away quickly, giving him a small smile as she took in his shell-shocked expression.

"I thought it would be nice to experiment," she explained hastily, although strangely, she wasn't embarrassed. "For science. It's a perfectly rational thing to do, because you're nice and symmetrical, perhaps not well-formed, but very, very interesting. And.. well, it was for science," she finished, well-aware of her poorly-constructed rambling. But then her lip quirked into another grin, and she thought perhaps, she didn't really care.

"We should dance more often, Fitz."

It was safe to say that both never brought up the incident again.


	2. Bridges

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Is this not the perfect song for Fitz's current predicament? A warning, this one is sadder, so I suggest staying away from this chapter if you're looking for something light and fluffy. Also, spoilers for episode one of season two.

"If I didn't hit it  
Would you still say you needed me  
Guess I walked right into it  
Guess I made it too easy  
If any word that you said  
Could have made me forget  
Would I get up off the floor  
'Cause this is all in my head."

_Bridges - Broods_

**CHAPTER TWO: Bridges**

"Fitz." The voice is soft but surprisingly clear. He's been expecting someone to check up on him, but the person speaking is not someone that he's been anticipating to meet so soon, if ever again.

He's too scared to look up (what if his mind is playing tricks on him?), but he does anyway because since when has fear stopped him from doing anything? _A lot of times, _a tiny voice croons somewhere in the back of his mind.

But she's standing there in all her reserved beauty, with her hair tied up and she's dressed in an outfit that he's sure is significant, but he can't _place_ where it's from because his stupid mind refuses to cooperate with _anything_ he does or says. He stares for a long time, his gaze unwavering, burning through her like she's going to disappear. He's expecting her to disappear. But she doesn't, and it only confirms it when she gives him a ghost of a smile.

"You're.. you're not.." he manages to choke out, but she only blinks at him and reaches a hand out to him slowly.

"I'm here, Fitz. It's okay."

But there's something off-setting about the sadness in her gaze, and there's something about her outfit that he _just_. _can't_. _get_.

...

"I don't need a.. a.."

"A therapist."

"Yes!" He turns to thump his hands on the table in frustration, trying desperately not to focus on her disappointed face. "I can finish my own sentences, Jemma." He sticks to her first name, because as much as he hates to admit it sometimes he finds it difficult to pronounce her last name.

"I know, Fitz," she smiles gently at him. Strangely, he sees complete faith in her warm gaze, and for some reason it only makes his heart ache and his spine crawl with uneasiness. "You just need some more time. Try having your pills-"

He knocks the bottle from her before she can grasp it, a thick sort of terror bubbling up inside him and he hasn't got a clue why. "Don't call it that! Makes me sound like I'm... insane. Like I'm.." he searches for the word with another surface of frustration.

"Broken?" Simmons offers sadly. He wishes she wouldn't.

"Broken," he repeats, giving a tiny nod in agreement.

"It's okay," she soothes kindly. "Broken things can be fixed."

The words spring to life before he can help himself. "We'll fix it. Together."

Her silence only makes him wonder why the phrase is so horribly familiar.

...

"I want to see him." Even to his own ears, he sounds adamant. The others argue for a long time, but it's Coulson who concedes first, staring at him with sadness in his gaze.

"Let him go down," he says wearily, slumping back into his seat. In his hands is a phone, but he doesn't appear to be talking to anyone, even though it spits out static from time to time.

It's May who protests the most, glaring sharply at Coulson. "No, Phil. We can't afford to slow down his recovery anymore. It will _break_ him."

Fitz wishes that they would talk to him, instead of around him. Skye sits solemnly in the corner, watching him with dark eyes. Simmons doesn't speak either, but she is a constant smiling presence.

They bicker some more, but it's Skye who finally stops them. "I'll go down with him."

There's silence in the room, and more of those sympathetic gazes that he can't stand. He wants them to stop. He's not _broken_. But they finally agree, and he walks off without another word, with Simmons at his side.

Faintly he hears noises from the other room, crackly, like it was coming through a phone.

"_How is he_?" And then he decides that it's most likely a hallucination, because the speaker of the voice is walking right beside him, her presence an ever-there comfort.

But he can't play off the next voice. Skye's voice, weary and.. scared. "We need you. _He_ needs you. Come back."

_Please come back. _

...

Ward looks worse for wear. Bedraggled, with a beard to go along with it. His hands are raw and pale. Self inflicted pain. It makes Fitz sick.

"Fitz," the prisoner begins roughly. He's addressing the engineer, but his eyes dart towards Skye continuously. "I was waiting for them to bring you down to the slaughter house."

Fitz says nothing, so Ward continues, turning to Skye.

"And you, Skye. I didn't think _you_ would bring him down here, of all people. I'm the big bad monster, aren't I? The one that hides under the bed, in the closet."

"Say one wrong thing and we're out of here," she snaps suddenly, glaring daggers at him. "I'm not here for you, Ward. I'm here for Fitz."

"Are you lonely?" It's the first question that springs to mind, but to his surprise Ward takes it all in his stride.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm lonely," Ward decides. He shoots Skye a meaningful look that he can't understand and Skye ignores. "Are you?"

It's then that Fitz frowns, shaking his head slowly. "No. It's always been me and Simmons. It's not any different now."

It's then that he notices the silence in the room, and Ward pulls his face up to the electric holding wall as close as he can. "Do you see her now, Fitz?"

He doesn't understand when Skye and Koenig pull him from the room, only Ward's words spinning in his mind.

_Do you see her? _

Simmons watches from the corner with a sad smile.

_Do you see her now?_

...

She looks pale. Her eyes are darker, the rings shadowing her expression. She still smiles and acts the same, but her movements are weaker, slower. It sends a punch to Fitz's gut, and he doesn't pull back when she reaches for him. For some reason, Simmons with her reddened eyes and pale complexion seems familiar.

"Fitz. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong with you?" He blurts out suddenly, wincing at the way that it had come out. "I mean.. are you okay?"

Simmons looks surprised, but her eyes hold something deeper when she smiles. "Of course, Fitz. I'm perfectly alright, there's no need to worry."

"Yeah," he mutters, his throat dry as he turns back to his work obediently. "But.. tell me if you don't feel good, yeah? It would kill me if you left me."

Her smile and nod doesn't soothe the pit of snakes writhing in his stomach.

...

"Don't touch them!"

But it's too late. She's already scooped up the container of pills, shaking them at him with a reprimanding smile. His hearts leaps up in his throat for no apparent reason.

She's holding the pills.. but they're still on the table, exactly where he'd left them. Terror boils over him and he blinks rapidly.

When he opens his eyes again, she's gone. The pills aren't.

...

She's deathly pale now, but he doesn't have enough time to worry about it, because they're out in the open on a field mission, and she's steadily advancing towards a cliff edge.

He jumps to his feet and starts running after her, but nothing he can do is fast enough as she advances slowly towards the cliff and spins. She smiles, and he can finally see the full extent of her sickness. Fitz suddenly understands what she's about to do (maybe he's known it for longer than he realises) and it tears his heart in half.

She teeters on the edge with a frighteningly familiar poise, her hair whipping in the wind, her sad smile the last thing he sees of her when she falls.

And then he's screaming, and she's gone, and then suddenly there's a hand on his shoulder, comforting and achingly familiar.

And then he turns, and it's as if he's fallen into a dream, because she's standing there. _Jemma Simmons._

But it's the _wrong_ Simmons. Her hair is short, her face is riddled in scratches and bruises and her gaze holds sadness, and most prominent of all, guilt.

_Do you see her? _

Ward's words echo in his mind, engrained from their brief conversation.

_Do you see her now? _


	3. Chasing the Sun

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Ah, I'm not particularly fond of this chapter, but I was finding it rather difficult picking a song for C. Remember if you have any suggestions, feel free to send me a PM or drop it in a review. Thanks for the support, and thank you for reading!

"I'm better,  
So much better now.  
I see the light, touch the light,  
We're together now."

_Chasing the Sun - The Wanted_

**CHAPTER THREE: Chasing the Sun**

The first time he spots her, the first thing that flashes through his mind is admiration. Because even though she looks nervous, she corrects the professor's teachings with a small smile and an expression that doesn't hold any trace of smugness.

Fitz is a loner. It's not that he's shy (although he's terribly awkward, especially around girls) or afraid, it's that he likes it that way. He'd never been terribly good at making friends as a kid, and he finds that he works just as efficiently by himself. And what with his academic status, he's often flying ahead of most his age anyway. There's simply not the time nor space to make friends.

But when he spots the bright-eyed, optimistic girl in one of the lectures, he considers changing his mind. He _knows_ they would be good partners. And by partners, he means only for strictly work-related purposes.

He's not entirely sure why he wants to work with her. Maybe it's the fact that she's academically advanced, maybe even beyond some of the other students there. Maybe it's because she's a girl, and a pretty one at that. Fitz isn't blind, no matter how anti-social he may be. Or maybe it's because Leopold Fitz has been lonely for a long time, and there's finally someone else that's the same age as him.

Either way, he jumps at the chance to meet her. But Fitz has never been terribly brave. And so it begins.

...

It's a few days later when he bumps into her in the hallways. Completely on accident, of course. Okay, so _maybe_ he purposely side-stepped into her path. But she should have avoided him! And maybe he'd let the extensive files of papers he's holding _accidentally_ slip out of his grasp and onto the floor.

It's the most cliché thing he has ever thought of, but it works, because she gasps and drops to the floor immediately.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" She smiles apologetically, and Fitz crouches down to help gather everything up. "This is all my fault!"

"Yeah," he mutters unexpectedly. "It was."

She frowns and gives him a strange look, but she tugs up a file and grins at him again. "You're Leopold Fitz, aren't you?"

Surprise startles him into action and he pauses, staring at her suspiciously. "How'd you know?"

"It's hard to miss someone when they talk about you in class constantly," she scoffs, but her eyes glint in a friendly way.

"They talk about me?"

"Of course," she sounds just about as surprised as he feels. "You're the youngest - and probably smartest - person to pass through here. Well, I say the youngest. I'm younger, I think."

All flattery dissipates as everything clicks into place, and his lips pull into an even deeper frown. "_You're_ Simmons?"

"Jemma Simmons, yes," she confirms brightly.

"I'm sorry, I just remembered I've got a.. class to go to," he lies quickly, leaping to his feet and retreating quickly.

It's only later that he realises he left his papers behind.

...

Jemma Simmons. He's heard the name before - too many times before. He's glimpsed at her work (amazing, every aspect of it), looked at reports, even been compared to her a few times.

He knows enough about her to realise that she's absolutely brilliant. That only makes him admire her more. But that means that it will be bloody impossible to get her to actually notice him. He has to.. impress her, somehow. Or maybe he should just give up. Fitz has been lonely for so long now, a little longer won't do any harm.

But something about her intrigues him, and he just has to work out someway of getting her to notice him.

It turns out he doesn't have to, because there's a knock at his door and when he opens it she's standing there with her brilliant smile and a pile of papers in her outstretched hand.

"I think you forgot something," she offers brightly.

And for some odd reason Fitz can't think straight, so instead he murmurs, "thanks," grabs the papers and shuts the door on her.

...

He's just tucking into lunch at the dining hall when there's a polite tap on his shoulder. It's her again, and she looks as friendly as ever, albeit a tad bit shy.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

Fitz is startled into silence for a couple of seconds as he swipes his gaze across the hallway. He has no idea where she's asking to sit next to him, and he's too surprised to think of something clever to say, so instead he stumbles out, "there's plenty of empty seats. With your friends, maybe."

Simmons takes his words for a yes anyway and drops herself into the seat in front of her. He feels irritation bubble at her, at the fact that she assumed that she could have a seat. It was laced with slight panic, however. What was he supposed to say to her? She probably thought he was a bumbling idiot after their last conversation.

"I don't have friends," she says quietly, "and I was just thinking.. well, since we're the same age and all.."

"Right," he nods slowly. He tries to think of something clever to say, but nothing springs to mind so he stays silent. No point in making more of a fool of himself, after all. In all honesty, he's surprised that she doesn't have friends. She's pretty (well, as far science division students are concerned), she's smart and she doesn't seem to hold any malice.

"What about you?" Simmons presses curiously. "Any friends?"

It's then that he realises why she doesn't have any friends. It's the same reason he doesn't have any either. They're naive, they're young and they're smart. Too smart. The other students don't like it, they feel like they're being one-upped by a couple of children.

He shakes his head at her, his lips pulled into a frown. "No. No, I don't."

...

She's there. Simmons is there, and she's not supposed to be. This is _his_ time to work in the lab. He'd established it a long time ago, and others knew this. Besides, he'd picked a specific time for a purpose. About seven o'clock is when everyone went down to the Boiler room to party, or do... other things that Fitz prefers not to know about.

And so her being there is _completely_ invading his privacy. The lab's big enough for two, of course, but it isn't just that. It was the fact that if she was here, he would spend the night trying to think of something to say, instead of finishing his work (which, by the way, he's left until the last minute _again_).

"What are you doing?"

She jumps and drops her work with a clatter, spinning to meet him. Once her eyes shift in recognition, she smiles tentatively. Fitz briefly wonders if it's just him, or if she's been getting shyer every time he's met her.

"Oh, hello," she greets kindly. "I was just working on that assignment that Dr Weaver set us."

Fitz frowns (because they were only set that work today, and why was she starting it already?) but decides that his other questions are more pressing and shakes his head instead. "No, uh, I meant, what are you doing here? In the lab?"

Simmons gives him a questioning look, tilting her head to the side, but she smiles and offers, "oh, I'm supposed to be here, if that's what you mean. I already had it booked with Roth."

"I already had it booked," he frowns again, and Simmons pulls a geniunely surprised face, widening her eyes.

"Oh, really? I'm sorry, I had no idea. Roth told me-"

"It's okay," he cuts in, and half of him regrets the idea already. "We can.. share the lab."

"Really? Thank you," she smiles. For a second, she makes a movement as if to hug him, but then she seems to remember something and stop herself. Fitz is a tiny bit disappointed, he has to admit.

"I have no idea why Roth would just ignore your booking like that," she chatters as he turns to grab his stuff. He only nods in response, but he knows perfectly well why Roth had ignored him. Roth was a bit of a player, he would do anything for a pretty girl, and they don't get too many of those who are willing to hire out an hour in the lab.

"I'm surprised that this hour was taken, actually," Simmons continues, "normally everyone is out at this time."

It's then that he realises he and Jemma Simmons really _would_ get along. He just has to find the right thing to say, first. And he plans on doing that immediately.

Well, it might have to wait until after his assignments. He can't afford to hand in anything late again.

...

Fitz feels like he's back in college again because the professor is assigning them work in pairs like they're teenagers. It's baby-ish and Fitz is reminded if just how much he hates it when they reach his name.

"Leopold Fitz, Jemma Simmons."

Out of all people, he would be paired with _her_. He can hear snickers, and he understands why. They're the youngest, of course they're paired together. Even the professors believe that they're not smart enough, or capable enough to be paired with someone older, someone more experienced.

It's Simmons that finds him when the class erupts into a sea of people trying to find their partners. She sits down beside him and for the first time, doesn't beam at him as she says hello.

It's then that Fitz realises - in all his eagerness to think of something clever to say, he hasn't exactly been very nice to Simmons, either.

"Sorry," he blurts out suddenly, and she turns to stare at him with a tiny smile, although she looks puzzled.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Leopold."

He winces at his name as a reflex, shaking his head. The one thing he really did question his mother's choices on. "Don't.. Don't call me that. Just.. Fitz, please."

She looks apologetic, handing him a pair of gloves from the box. "Oh, I'm sorry. In that case, you can call me Simmons."

Fitz mumbles something under his breath, and he almost leaps back when Simmons leans forward to hear, frowning in curiosity.

"Sorry?"

"Uh.. I said.. our names go together," he stumbled over his words, feeling his cheeks flush. "FitzSimmons."

He expects her to laugh at him, but she smiles widely instead, pausing in her movements to speak to him.

"They do, don't they?"

It's then that Fitz plucks up the courage before he can falter again, and he says, "I've.. got a gun, down in the lab." She gives him an alarmed look, and he suddenly realises how weird that sounded. "I mean, I'm working on one. It's supposed to be non-lethal, but.." he suddenly notices that his hand had gone up to scratch at his neck without quite meaning to. "I can't quite work out the components without killing the subject.. It's more of a bio-chemists job, really.." he trails off lamely, and turns away quickly.

This time, Simmons does laugh, but it's a friendly one. "I'll see you in the lab at seven, Fitz."

...

"Do you remember when we met, Fitz?" Simmons murmurs, leaning over to rest her head on Fitz's shoulder. It's later in the evening, dark enough to see the stars. The Bus cargo ramp is still half down, and they sit with their feet dangling over the edge, in practically the same place they were since that one time they had watched the rocket with the team.

Earlier on in the day, Coulson had organised a team bonding day. Naturally, that included drinks (his can still feel the faint buzz of alcohol) and fun shenanigans that included silly games like Truth or Dare (prompted by Skye, of course), Team Monopoly (Coulson's idea. He and May won, no surprises), and stargazing (suggested by Simmons, who had begged her way into everyone's agreement).

Everyone else had left shortly after nine, but he and Simmons had stayed, not minding the chill that crept in along with the darkening sky.

"Yeah," Fitz nods, almost grimacing at the mere thought of it. "I was awkward."

"Aw, Fitz," Simmons laughs. He can feel the movement of her head on his shoulder, and he shifts uncomfortably, aware of just how close she really is. "You were _sweet_. Well, you were sweet once you started to warm up to me."

He pulls away from her suddenly, frowning in confusion. "What?"

Simmons turns to look at him, eyebrows raised at his expression. "You hated me at first, remember?"

"I never hated you," he shakes his head, and Simmons laughs again.

"Yes, you did. Barely tolerated me, and you slammed the door in my face."

He winces as the memory comes to him. "Oh, that.. I never hated you, Simmons. I was scared. To talk to you, that is. I wanted to be your partner, because.."

"We were the same age," she finishes.

He smiles at her suddenly. "Yeah. I was afraid to talk to you, so I started trying to.. impress you. I wanted to think of something clever to say, but every time you talked to me, I couldn't think of anything."

"And then we got paired together."

"Yeah." There's a long silence, and then Fitz suddenly allows himself to worry. Had he scared her off? Because now that he thought about his, that story did seem a little creepy-

"See, Fitz?" He's all too aware of her proximity as she slings an arm around him and draws him into a hug. "Not awkward, just sweet."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," she confirms, before her eyes gain a cheeky glint, "Leopold."

"Don't call me that. Please," he pleads, but he can't help but smile in return, trying to ignore the way his stomach churns from how close she is to him.

"But this is how it all started, Leopold," Simmons teases gently, and it's clear the alcohol has gone to her head.

"No, Jemma!" He almost throws his hands up in the air for extra effect.

"Remember the cat?"

"Don't make me remember the cat."

"Oh, and that time Roth-"

"-no, Simmons-"

"Or when you tried to sneak into the-"

"Jemma!"

"What about-"

"You're drunk."

"Quite drunk, yes," well, at least they can both agree on that topic.


	4. Don't Say Goodnight

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thank you all for your nice reviews and feedback, it was so lovely to read. I hope you enjoy this chapter, because I rather liked it. It did take me a long time to find the right song, but eventually I ended up with Don't Say Goodnight.

Also, the part where Simmons is thinking that Fitz gets more beautiful with everything new she learns is inspired/taken from Doctor Who, when Amy Pond says more or less the same thing but in more beautiful ways. Anyway, do enjoy!

"Take a deep breath and don't be shy  
Don't you worry about tomorrow 'cause tomorrow ain't tonight just  
Kick back let the universe align."

"Come on don't say goodnight  
With the stars in the sky  
Let's wait 'til tomorrow paints the sun across the night  
I see love in your eyes  
And if you see it in mine  
Let's wait 'til tomorrow  
Don't say good, say good  
Please don't say goodnight."

_Don't Say Goodnight - Hot Chelle Rae_

**CHAPTER FOUR: Don't Say Goodnight**

"You're scared." It wasn't a question, simply because Simmons didn't need to ask. She had learned to read Fitz's facial expressions (she had always been observant), but she didn't need to gauge his expression in order for her to note the abnormal quietness.

"I'm not scared." His voice was adamant, but Simmons knew better, instead turning her head to look at him. The slight breeze ruffled his curls, and she hid an affectionate smile, instead twisting her gaze back to follow his gaze, both tilting their heads to the sky.

They had snuck out after curfew to a secluded spot on the outcrop of a hill, a pleasant spot positively blooming with green grass and sporting a beautiful view of the city. But best of all, there was a clear view of the night sky in all it's glory, twinkling in a friendly fashion that reminded her painstakingly of her childhood home.

"Fitz.." she trailed off, making it obvious that she knew something was up. He didn't look back at her, but his shoulders slumped and some of the tension drained from him. She found herself looking at him again, going over every familiar aspect of him. It was strange, but it seemed that every time she looked at him - properly looked at him - he seemed to have changed in some way. So slight one could miss it, but it was there all the same. Fitz had never been an ugly man, but Simmons had found that with every single day she spent with him, every peek at his ideas and inspirations, he grew more beautiful in her eyes.

"I'm not scared," he repeated slowly. "I'm just.."

"It's okay to be worried," she offered quietly, giving him a small smile even though she knew he wasn't looking. "No one will judge you for it. Besides, given what you're going to do tomorrow.. it's as good a reason as any to worry."

Jemma Simmons understood worry as much as the next person, perhaps even more so. Even as a child, she had always been a bit of a worrier, sticking closely to the rules and reprimanding others for not doing so. She wasn't sure why, exactly. To her, rules were.. safe. They told her what she could and couldn't do, and that offered a strange sense of security to her. Rules were made for a reason, why would you neglect those very reasons to do as you wished?

When Fitz didn't respond, she tore her gaze from him and to her lap, pulling absentmindedly at the grass. "I get scared too, you know. Worried, scared, concerned. Sometimes there are days where.. I- I doubt my choices. Sometimes.. Sometimes don't you wonder what it would be like to be.. well, to live a normal life?" She let go of the strands of grass in her grasp and watched as it fluttered to land in a cluster on her legs. "Working for SHIELD is.. amazing, and breathtaking and wonderful in all the right ways, but sometimes the work is so hard, and my family don't know, and.." She tucked her legs in and hugged herself as shelter against the cool night breeze, finally turning to fix her gaze on Fitz once more.

He was looking at her this time, with his knowing blue eyes and an expression that Simmons had come to love (platonically, of course). His voice was quiet when he spoke, but somehow the words held greater volume that way.

"All the time. But then I think, where would we be without SHIELD? I'd be.. sitting in a class somewhere, bored out of my mind. And I wouldn't have met you."

They both smiled, and Simmons found herself shuffling closer to him, nudging his shoulder with her own. "And then where would you be, Leo?" She teased, laying her head on his shoulder comfortably.

"Without the experience of a particular cat's liver," he grumbled in return, and she couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Are you still bitter about that? Really, Fitz, it's not all too bad. Some cultures enjoy delicacies that are even stranger. There's nothing wrong with it," she preached, and although her words were serious the gleam in her eyes were full of mischief.

"I don't understand how you can.. dissect things like that." She could feel his shudder of horror, and she resisted the heavy urge to roll her eyes, instead smiling wider.

"It's _science_, Fitz. It's my duty as a scientist. It's perfectly fine, after all." Simmons had always found Fitz's squeamishness amusing, as to her such things were perfectly natural. She had never been scared or repulsed by such things, even as a little girl.

"I think I'll stick to engineering, thanks," he muttered under his breath, even though Simmons heard him anyway. They fell into a comfortable silence, twisting to stare back up at the night sky and the stars that sparkled merrily down at them.

"I can name every star, you know," Fitz spoke suddenly, and Simmons turned to look at him curiously. The two shared everything there was to know with each other, so it was always interesting when she found out something new about her best friend.

"Really? You never told me," she said curiously, shifting back a few paces so that she could focus on him properly.

"Yeah," he nodded, eyes glinting with reflections from the glowing city down below. "My Dad taught me, before.. you know."

Simmons felt her heart twist in sympathy, and she reached her hand to grab Fitz's shoulder as a gesture of comfort. "Oh, Fitz.." Despite their closeness and lack of secrecy, she knew that Fitz's father was something that wasn't brought up often, if at all. From what she had gathered, he had passed away when Fitz was merely a boy, perhaps ten or eleven years old.

"He always said that he wanted to be an astronomer. He learnt every constellation, used to sneak into places to peer through a stolen telescope. He never did get to reach his dream. Ended up being a mechanic."

Simmons smiled as she attempted to place the smiling man she had seen from various pictures breaking into someone's house just to look at the sky and study the stars. "It sounds like he was a rebel."

"Nah," Fitz shook his head, and although his voice was easy, his gaze was faint and he avoided her gaze, scanning the sky instead. "Just driven."

"Like you," she offered softly.

"I'm not driven."

Simmons frowned in disagreement, shaking her head at him slowly. "You _are_ driven," she insisted. "I've never seen you give up on anything. Not your work, not your family. Not on me."

"Then you clearly haven't been around long enough."

"You're brave, and clever and so much more than you think you are, Fitz. I wouldn't have anyone else as my best friend."

"Yeah?" He turned to look at her, blue eyes flickering. Simmons gave him a confident smile, one that she hoped was at least partly reassuring.

"Yeah," she confirmed earnestly, hoping to cheer him up. There was something upsetting about seeing Fitz down. Being a generally cheery person, Simmons didn't particuarly enjoy seeing others upset, especially Fitz. "Besides, who else could endure cat liver?"

"Please don't make this about that cat."

But she had managed a smile out of him, so she sure as hell wasn't going to stop now. "It always comes back to the cat, Fitz. Maybe we should name it?"

"No, Jemma." She could see him physically shudder, and she couldn't help but chortle at his actions, earning herself another smile. "We are _not_ naming a dead cat."

"I don't think it would affect anything," Simmons suggested innocently, blinking repeatedly. "How about.. Lily? Or perhaps Marie, after Marie Curie?"

She looked to Fitz for a reaction, but he wasn't listening. His gaze was focused on her but he didn't appear to be taking in her words. "Fitz? Fitz, are you listening?" She huffed at him, poking him playfully in the shoulder.

"What?" He jolted to a start suddenly, blinking in confusion. "Yeah, yeah, sure." After a moment, he frowned as if suddenly realising what she had said. "Wait, no. That cat wasn't a-"

"It was a female, yes," she laughed, almost doubling over at his stricken expression.

"How did you- nevermind, don't answer that."

"What have you got weighing on your mind, Fitz?" She inquired gently. She could tell that something was troubling him and while she had a pretty good idea of what it could be, there was no harm in asking for herself.

"I was just thinking about.. I think you're right," he said quietly.

Simmons shot him a surprised look, leaning back on the palms of her hands and curling her fingers into the grass. While she did always savour the rare moments when Fitz admitted she was right, this wasn't one of the times she had been expecting it. "What?"

"I'm scared. Like you said," he admitted. "What if.. what if I mess up? I'm one of the youngest, and yet they're expecting me to be.. magic, or something. What if I fail their expectations or something? Honestly, normally I wouldn't mind if I failed, but I know how much you want to enter field work, and if I drag you back.. I don't think I could do that."

The words drifted in the air for a long silence, leaving Simmons slightly stunned. She had to admit, she certainly hadn't been expecting Fitz's outburst. Although he often did surprising and yet heartwarming things, she did concede. And to his apparent surprise, she began to smile.

"That's sweet, Fitz. But you don't have to worry. I don't think you'll fail, Fitz. You exceed at everything you touch. Well, apart from dissecting, maybe. But I have every faith in you," she told him honestly. "And even if you do fail, I won't take off without you. I promise. It wouldn't be very fun without you. Well," she paused to think over it. "Actually, I'd imagine it'd be exciting, full of new things to discover. But the _point_ is, it wouldn't be quite the same without you."

"Yeah?" He looked so hopeful that she had to grin at him reassuringly, her eyes meeting his. And then, just like that, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, pulling away with a tiny smile.

"Yeah."

...

Somewhere in a monitor room not far away, a man and a woman peered at the security camera, studying it carefully.

"You're sure these are the ones?" The man questioned, and the woman nodded.

"Yes. I've got reassurance from Fury that these two are rising stars in the science division. Some of the best."

"And what if they fail their field assessments?"

"Doesn't matter. We don't need them to be in the field, we just need them to look over things."

"Are you sure we want to drag them into the field?"

The two exchanged a look, his one of concern and hers one of reassurance. "They knew what they were getting into when they signed up for SHIELD," she said quietly.

There was a long pause, before the man spoke again. "They're young, May."

She only spared him a knowing look. "So were you, Phil."

"Yeah, and I _died_."


	5. Every Night

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Here we are with another chapter. Thank you for all the positive feedback, everybody. It warms my heart, it really does. Alright, so this chapter was born from the episode five promo, Hen In The Wolf House. I have not seen the episode, so this is purely speculation/my own weird imaginations. I've definitely gone for a different style of writing here (not sure how good it is, but hey, experimenting is always cool). A warning, this chapter is not very fluffy (although it does have a relatively nice ending), so if you were looking for something happier, I suggest you wait for another chapter.

Ah, this chapter should have been called Comply, honestly. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Any ideas/song suggestions are welcomed.

"I'm coming home to you,  
Every night,  
Coming home to you,  
Every night,  
My mind is made up,  
Nothing could change that,  
I'm coming home to you,  
Every night."

_Every Night - Imagine Dragons_

**CHAPTER FIVE: Every Night**

Sometimes, it hurts. Sometimes, it doesn't. Sometimes she forgets, she indulges herself in her work, her mission. But most of the time, she's just numb.

Simmons isn't exactly an emotionless being. She's never been the best at concealing her emotions - the only time she did manage to keep herself in check was when she was in her medical mode. And even then, she struggles. All in all, Jemma could never be quite like May.

She likes to think of herself as brave. Well, at least a tiny bit brave. She's jumped from a plane, she's taken a grenade for her friends. There's nothing more brave than risking your life, right?

But now, staring into the commanding eyes of Bobbi Morse, security chief of Hydra, Simmons wonders if really, she is a coward. She ran away from the team, from SHIELD. From Fitz.

"We're getting rather suspicious about you, Agent Simmons," the imposing woman says smoothly, and Simmons fights the strong urge to flee immediately.

"My loyalties are with Hydra," she returns, her throat dry with nervousness. Despite May's training and the fact that she has been getting better at lying, Jemma Simmons was never really built for deception.

"I'll be the judge of that," Morse answers simply.

Jemma Simmons leaves a distress call on the concealed SHIELD tablet when she thinks no one is looking.

...

She's running now. Where to, she doesn't know. All she knows is that she must survive. They're chasing after her now - somehow they know what she's been doing. They know that she's SHIELD, and because they know that, now they have to kill her.

And so it's fear that drives Simmons as she tears down the hallways. They all look the same in her harried gaze. Pristine, orderly white corridors. Sterile and clean. Everything a well-kept lab facility should be. And yet, it lacks the warmth that the darker bases of SHIELD have.

Simmons isn't quite sure why she's wondering about the hallways (she's supposed to be running for her life). Maybe it's because her fear-addled mind is absent at the moment. Maybe it's because she misses home. Maybe it's because suddenly, Simmons wishes she hadn't ever taken up Coulson's offer.

But she has, and when she rounds the corner and slams straight into the imposing figure of Morse, she wonders how Coulson will deliver the news of her death to the team.

...

Simmons is too valuable.

They don't kill her. There's a chair and some strange contraption. She wonders whether perhaps it would have been better to die.

Bakshi welcomes her to Hydra with a smile and a black lab coat.

...

Next thing she knows, she's complying to Hydra's every will and bidding. She works hard on set assignments, chats to her supervisor in between breaks (for some reason, Simmons wants to make some friends). It's like everything is normal. Like she's just popped into work like any other normal human being.

And for a while, everything _is_ normal. Nothing unusual happens. She works, and chats and makes friends. Whitehall is pleased, and so is Bakshi. Somehow, she earns the respect and admiration of Hydra agents around her.

Jemma is something she's never been before - popular. She's happy (she is, honestly). But for some bizarre, strange reason (why isn't she happy?), she's scared, more so than anything else.

...

There's shuffling in her flat that night, and with her heart in her throat, she reaches for the gun that's kept tucked away neatly in her bag.

But it's all okay, because it's a very familiar, grinning man with a brown paper bag in his grasp - or in other words, Director Coulson. Dropping the gun immediately, she moves over to peer closer at the items he's set on the table.

Whitehall and Bakshi have warned her of what to do in the case that any agent of SHIELD returns for her. Play it off, cover things up. Gain information. Like a good little lapdog (lapdog? Now, where did that come from? She's not a lapdog, she's a valuable agent of Hydra).

"It's good to see you, Coulson," she smiles, and everything is going smoothly because it's not actually a lie. Simmons doesn't bear any ill will to the man - in fact, he's become something of a father figure to her - but the simple truth is that Simmons is with Hydra now. And of course, that makes them enemies. _It's rather strange_, she thinks. _Jemma Simmons is a triple agent now._

"I brought some more groceries," he smirks in return. "You've really been letting your fridge go, Simmons."

"I've been rather busy," she admits sheepishly, reaching over to pull a packet of pasta from the bag with a curious gaze. She keeps her gaze carefully neutral, as May had taught her once upon a time. Truth be told, Simmons hasn't been eating much recently. She's too worried or stressed to sit down and make a meal. Besides, it's better to stay in shape for self-defence, right?

"Too busy to help me make some chicken carbonara?" Coulson questions, lifting an eyebrow up in question.

Not too long after, they're seated at the table, digging into their meal. It's almost like deja-vu, but it's become a regular routine now. Coulson stops by whenever he can, and they make dinner. But now.. now, she's got to gain information from him.

"What happened the other day?" Coulson breaks the idle chit-chat first, setting his fork down to pick up a glass of water.

"Sorry, sir?" Simmons frowns at him, pausing with the fork halfway to her mouth. Has she missed a call, or a mission briefing from Coulson? Does he suspect that something's up? Her stomach tightens in worry, and it becomes increasingly harder to smile.

"You sent out a distress call, and then cancelled it soon after," Coulson explains as he sets down his glass and watches her expectantly.

"Oh," Simmons draws out the word for as long as can be deemed normal, offering a small smile to fill the gap. What can she say to him? _Oh, I work for Hydra now? Sorry sir, but I'm actually working for the other side, oops_? "It was a false alarm. I thought that my cover was going to be exploited, but they pulled out someone else instead."

Coulson stays silent for a while, the lines creased in his forehead pulled into a picture of concern. She fights the urge to squirm underneath his gauging expression, instead meeting his gaze uncertainly.

"Tell me if you ever need any help, alright, Simmons? Just tell me, and I'll send May over," he says finally.

"Of course," she smiles in return, but it's forced and fake. _Don't send May. I can't lie to the Calvary. _

...

That night, when she lies in her bed without even the slightest trace of sleep, she wonders about Fitz. Does he miss her? Does he even remember her?

She's with Hydra now (of course, why wouldn't she be?), but that doesn't mean she doesn't care. He's still her best friend, her lab partner, her team-mate. He's still _Fitz_. Sometimes, on the really lonely nights when she finds herself crying (why is she crying? Everything's better now, isn't it?), she wonders whether she could persuade Fitz to join her. To join Hydra.

Sometimes, she thinks about turning him in. To Whitehall, just so that they can be together again, just so she can listen to his ramblings and quietly record his cognitive progress.

Progress. That's probably the right word to describe herself at the moment. Simmons is progressing. Alone. Without Fitz. It scares her. It's been a long, long time since she's advanced without Fitz. But she's with Hydra now. Things are different.

Different. Strange. Unwelcoming. Cold.

Cold, like the frigid air when she recieves a call at two in the morning.

...

"Now, Jemma-"

Jemma. Only Fitz calls her that, really. It's a professional work environment, there's no time for a first-name basis or to make friends (despite the amount of time she spends chatting up her work mates). Hydra is a high-tech agency, not some child's tea party. But then again, it's Bakshi. Bakshi always seems to have something compelling about him. He's nice, and he's her boss. He can call her whatever he wishes, if he chooses to do so. But -

"Please, sir. I'd prefer Simmons."

...

She's running again. Why is there always so much running? Simmons wasn't built for running, but she does it anyway, because she's scared (see, she knew that a diet would come in handy).

There's flashes. Bangs. Lights and voices and everything inbetween, and it's all swirling around in her head like a mess of unorganised clutter, constantly jamming and vying for attention. One word sticks out the most amongst the white noise.

Comply.

She's stopped running now.

Comply is what Simmons should do. Obey, and return back to Whitehall and Bakshi. That's the right thing to do.

But there's so much noise, and action, that she just can't quite grasp at it. She can feel the straws slipping through her grasp.

Comply.

Comply.

Comply, comply, _comply_.

"Jemma!"

Everything goes dark.

...

_Comply_.

She wakes up in a strange room, in a strange bed, connected to not-so-strange equipment (she's a biochemist, things like that don't just slip away), with people peering down at her like she's a bomb about to go off.

_Comply_.

Simmons isn't a bomb. She's not about to blow up. She's a human, she's fine, she's -

_Comply_.

\- Hydra? No. Yes, she's Hydra. But.. SHIELD. Something about SHIELD. SHIELD and monkeys. Definitely something to do with monkeys. But why monkeys? Monkeys are irrelevant to the situation, and -

_Comply_.

Whitehall and Bakshi. Where are they? Have they left her? Left her as bait? Whitehill, Bakshi, and.. someone called Finn. No, no that's not right. It's something.. Fix.. Fix, or something. No, that's wrong again (although he does fix things, she's certain). What was his name again? Something like.. like..

"Fitz."

Silly her, how could she have possibly forgotten? Fitz, of course, the silly little monkey -

Everything goes dark again.

...

The dark is rather lonely, she thinks.

_Comply_.

Not cold, nor hot. Just.. the dark. It's silent and dull and boring, three things that Jemma Simmons isn't particularly fond of. Sometimes she thinks. Most times she's just _there_, simply -

_Comply_.

\- sitting there, doing nothing. Perhaps there's nothing wrong with it (where are Whitehall and Bakshi? And that monkey, where is he?), but Simmons has never been a fan of the dark.

...

She wakes with a start, heaving and gasping for breath in a bed not unlike a hospital one. Why is she in a hospital room? It's that monkey, isn't it? It bloody attacked her!

No, no that's not right. The monkey is friendly, the monkey is adorable, the monkey is -

_Comply_.

\- the monkey is staring from across the room at her sullenly, a large dark-skinned man by his side.

"Monkey?" She chokes out. The man looks surprised, but the monkey only frowns and locks his jaw tightly. There's something about his expression that reminds her of an emotion she can't quite place. Wounded. Perhaps that's the right way of putting it.

...

By the third day, the ringing stops. There's still faint whispers lingering in her mind -

_Comply_.

\- but for the most part, she feels better now. Not good, but better. It's a word that can sum up quite a few experiences, Simmons reflects.

That night, after rigorous questioning (questioning that she's adamantly refused to answer), Skye visits her.

She hovers at the end of the bed, clearly eyeing up the various tubes and wires (she can't quite be bothered to name them at the moment) out of the corner of her eye, but she gives her an awkward smile.

"They told me that you were better today."

"Yes," Simmons agrees quietly. "Better."

There's an pregnant pause, and then suddenly Skye throws her arms around Simmons in a careful hug. "I've missed you, Simmons."

"Me too," she smiles in return, but suddenly it's like Skye's far too close, and the pounding in her head is back, and the blankets feel like they're strangling her.

Skye takes a hurried step back, fear filtering through her gaze. "You okay?"

"No," Simmons admits truthfully. "I can't.."

"It's okay. Block it out. That's how I deal with it." Skye pulls out a chair and takes a seat at her bed side, tapping away at her tablet as per usual. "When you were down there.. with Hydra. What did they do to you?"

The memories hurt even now, even as she's safe (safe? Is that the right word? Is SHIELD her ally or her enemy?), even as she's healing up. The words scratch behind her teeth, and it takes effort to spit them out. "They made me.. they made me.."

_Comply_.

"Comply."

"Comply? Is that some kind of sick of brainwashing?" Skye sounds almost too eager to know, and suddenly it all clicks for Simmons. Skye's tapping furiously away at her tablet, asking too many questions. The amount of times she's reached up to her ear have been absurd.

"You're interrogating me for Coulson, aren't you?"

Skye seems to know the game is up, because she drops the act and leans over her tablet with a sad smile. "What you did in Hydra was brave, Simmons. So brave. But.. they did something to you. To that genius brain of yours. We need to make sure you're safe. To make sure you're still.. Simmons."

"And if I'm not?"

Skye doesn't answer, and so Simmons struggles with her next question. "And Fitz? Where is he?"

"He's fine, Simmons," Skye soothes, but she looks wary. "But we're keeping you apart for safety reasons, precautions-"

"He doesn't want to see me," Simmons cuts off tiredly.

"He's not ready, Simmons."

"Neither was I."

...

"You're not here."

Those are the first words he speaks to her, the first words she hears when she wakes up precisely a week after her talk with Skye. She's far better now - they've moved her from the medical room, but she's forced to have a monitor on her at all times in case of emergency. She's not allowed to return to work, so she spends most of her time reading and attending therapy sessions. The shouts in her head have subsided to a barely audible whisper.

"Fitz?"

He doesn't return the hopeful smile, only shaking his head at her. "You're.. You're not here," he protests again, more forcefully this time.

She swallows and reaches out for him instinctively, but her jerks away. "I'm here, Fitz. Right here."

"No. No, you.. you left. You're not real." The expression on his face makes her all the more confused, and she shakes her head at him.

"I'm real, Fitz. I'm real and here, and I'm back." She fights the urge to give him a hug, and instead offers him a friendly smile. Things aren't the same between them - she doesn't know if they ever will be again - but hopefully she can repair their friendship. Despite everything that's happened -

_Comply_.

\- she stills cares for him, he's still her best friend. She's still Simmons, he's still Fitz. There's nothing that says they can't still be FitzSimmons, right?

"You left me." Simmons can properly see how much it's affected him now, and she forces back the controlling whispers to give him a timid nod. She wants to explain, but she can tell that he doesn't want her to (they've always been on the same wavelength), so she sits instead.

"I left," she confirms quietly.

"Did you leave because of what I said? Down.. down there in the.. the.." he's struggling so much with his words that Simmons is reminded of precisely the reason that she left.

"The pod?"

"The pod."

Surprise strikes her then, because what he said has been the furthest thing possible from the real reason that she left. "Fitz.. I would never leave because of that."

"Oh, y-yeah? Well, you seemed pretty quick to pack up your.. your.. things, not too long ago," he shoots back.

"I didn't leave you. I left for you. For the team. And also for myself. Because I'm a coward. I was scared, Fitz. I was a coward, and I ran away. I'm sorry." When she reaches out for his shoulder again, this time he doesn't resist, and she lets her fingers sit comfortably on his shoulder as a reassuring gesture.

The silence drags on for what seems like eternity, but eventually, it's Fitz that breaks it. "You're not a coward."

She shoots him a questioning glance, but he's slow to respond.

"You.. you.. what's the word.. jumped! Yeah, you- you jumped from the.. uh, the Bus. And you took a.. a.." he mimes the action of blowing up, and Simmons can't help but smile.

"Grenade?"

"Yeah," Fitz nods. "And you went.. undercover. For Hydra. By yourself."

"I told you I was scared," Simmons teases gently, but it falls flat as he doesn't smile in return. "I'm sorry, Fitz."

To her surprise, it's Fitz who envelopes her into a tight hug, one filled with nostalgic memories and the absurd feeling of home. "Me too."

They stay like that for a while, tucked away in the little corner of the Playground, their tiny safe haven in a frightening world outside.

It's a while later before Fitz speaks again. "I hallucinated you."

"What?"


End file.
